Coming Together Again
by FireflySummer
Summary: Spoilers for Iron Man 3. Tony Stark's supposed death at the hand of the Mandarin did not go unnoticed by the other Avengers. Unbeknownst to all, he's set the gears turning again, beginning to draw the band of misfit superheroes together once more. The reactions of the five other Avengers, plus a bonus.


**Warning: Major spoilers from Iron Man 3.**

**Summary: Tony Stark's supposed death at the hand of the Mandarin did not go unnoticed by the other Avengers. Unbeknownst to all, he's set the gears turning once more, beginning to draw the band of misfit superheroes together once more. The reactions of the five other Avengers, plus a bonus.**

**AN: Yeah...meant to work on Equivalent Exchange. And then Iron Man 3 happened, and I had to write down the plot bunny before it got away from me entirely. Rated K+, no pairings.**

* * *

1. Natasha

Natasha Romanoff was the first one on the team to know that Tony Stark was dead. She knew it from the minute that he opened his mouth on national television and issued a challenge to the biggest (or at least most public) threat in the country.

Despite what everybody believed, Tony Stark was _not_ invincible. He wasn't a god, he didn't have super strength or healing or a Tesseract to back him up. He wasn't even an _agent_, and the good captain had put it quite accurately that day on the hovercraft. Tony Stark was nothing more than a man in a suit. Take that away and he was terrifyingly mortal, even if he and the rest of the world chose to forget that. (_Except you know that he hasn't forgotten. That he _never_ forgets_.)

She wondered briefly what would happen if she left her post right now. The Quintjets were fast, and maybe that she and Clint could make it to Malibu before anything drastic happened. She wondered how Stark would react. If he would accept her help after she knocked him over the head a few times for making them fly out there in the first place as a result of his sheer stupidity.

_But love is for children_, whispered a voice at the back of her mind. She was in no position to let sentiment stand in the way of her judgment. Not when leaving could easily compromise a three month cover and easily condemn hundreds of innocent people to death. (_He wouldn't want their help, anyways. Not when the price was innocent blood._)

And so, Natasha Romanoff steeled herself for what she knew was coming, all the while ignoring that treacherous voice at the back of her head that spoke of a ledger dripping red, knowing that her inaction may very well add to it the blood of Tony Stark.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

2. Clint

Clint Barton hadn't heard the original broadcast. He'd been out completing a part of their assignment, and by the time he returned, but he hadn't needed to see the broadcast to know that there was something wrong with his partner.

He knew that Tasha prided herself in her masks. She'd tricked the God of _Lies_ for heaven's sake. And for all that, she was clear as crystal for the moment.

It was impossible to track what exactly keyed him in, just like any of the woman's nonverbal (or verbal) cues were, but he could tell sense it the second he walked in the door. He didn't ask her what was wrong, of course, not up front. If she wanted to tell him, she'd do it without prompting. If not, then he didn't have the time or the mental stamina to try and procure a straight answer from her. So instead he grabbed a drink from the fridge and flopped down in the chair next to her.

She glanced sideways at him for half a second from the screen, which was filled with a news reel of sorts. He almost made a snarky comment about her taking up watching the evening news, but stopped short the second the familiar building caught his eye.

"Is that _Stark's mansion_!?" he demanded, kind of surprised that Stark had let the paparazzi get so close to his house. He'd never been there, just seen (SHIELD) pictures and dropped hints that his partner should take the man up on the offer to visit, since she knew him better than he did.

"He issued a challenge to the Mandarin," replied Natasha, her eyes not leaving the screen. Clint swore.

"He'll be dead before the week's out," he snapped, "I _knew_ I should have taken that case." Natasha quirked a quick eyebrow at him, apparently unaware that he had been offered said case. He'd turned it down, of course, in favor of being assigned with her _very far _away from the Helicarrier. Nothing was quite as therapeutic as hunting down terrorists on the other side of the globe, after all.

"Not even a week," she said, quickly dropping the subject and returning her attention to the screen. Her eyes flicked to the corner, and in an instant Clint caught what felt his breath catch in his throat. A missile, headed straight for the Malibu mansion.

Wordlessly, he watched the missile detonate. Watched Stark's manor crumble into the ocean. At some point the camera stopped filming, and it took Natasha all of thirty seconds to find another feed (one that he was 99% sure was _not_ a news channel feed). The two of them watched in silence, two thoughts running through his head: _Well, I guess I'll never get to use that hot tub he kept bragging about_, and _I should have taken that case._

When at last there was nothing left of Stark's dream home, Clint finally let his eyes slide over to Natasha. To his absolute shock, he saw that her mask had cracked.

Not with tears of course, but a smile, razor edged as all her smiles were. But a smile nonetheless.

"Tacky," was all she muttered, and Clint could only assume she meant the missiles. With a sweep of her hand, she shut off the open windows in her computer, the grin never quite leaving her face. It was starting to scare him.

Although she offered him nothing more, Clint eventually came to the conclusion that a smile like that could mean one or both of two things:

When they got back to the states, _somebody_ was going to die a long and painful death.

Tony Stark wasn't dead.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

3. Thor

Thor couldn't shake the uneasiness he felt as he strode towards the site of the Bifrost repairs.

It had been a year and a half now since he had shattered it as the last resort to save Jotenheim from his brother's madness, and until his return from earth six months prior, the repairs had been sluggish at best. But now, with the aid of the Tesseract's power, the repairs practically raced towards completion. Not yet, of course, but another half a year at the most.

As such, the Tesseract was required in its entirety to support the structure as they rebuilt, which meant that there would be no way to return to Midgard, even should the need arise. It was for this very reason that he felt a sick dread enter his heart the moment he received the summons from Heimdall.

His first instinct was, of course, was that his brother's mischief had returned again to wreak havoc among the mortals. Even with his brother safely incarcerated, the echoes of his misguided war could still have their hold on the planet. Perhaps his army had returned, drawn to the seam that had been created in space and time by the Tesseract's power. At that thought, Thor lengthened his stride until he stood abreast the silent guardian.

"Good Heimdall," he greeted, "You summoned me? Is Midgard in peril once more."

"There is hardly a time when Midgard is not in peril," replied Heimdall, with barely an inflection in his deep voice, "However, it is not for the sake of Midgard you were summoned, but for the sake of your shield companion." Thor's brow furrowed at the mention of his human shield companions, memories of the invasion six months prior fresh in his mind. "The Man of Iron is in grave peril."

"Tell me," Thor commanded.

Heimdall nodded his ascent. "He is surrounded by traitors on many sides, and his enemies have harnessed the powers of the Fire Giants of Muspelheim. Even now he is being targeted by one of their weapons."

"He will be able to defeat it," Thor said, confident in his memories of his battle alongside the valiant man. But the guardian remained worryingly silent, and Thor felt his confidence slipping away. He knew that behind the miraculous suit was a mere mortal. And they were…fragile, to say the least. The second stretched into minutes, leaving Thor only to wait, unable to give the aid he so desperately desired to.

"Death has come," Heimdall said at length, but then continued without hesitation. "And has gone once more." Thor let out an audible sigh of relief. "It comes at great price, and the battle is far from over."

"Then let us wait and watch together."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

4. Steve

Steve Rogers didn't get the news until the following morning. He'd spent the last six months on his bike, (the bike that Howard had kept in mint condition for him until his son had returned it seventy years later), trying to outrun his past. It wasn't a conscious thing, especially since he told himself that he was doing just as Fury had suggested. Getting out. Seeing the country and world that he had given _everything_ to protect.

But as the weeks rolled by, and thoughts of aliens and gods and freezing and falling and New York burning beneath a torn sky came to haunt him at every turn, he just kept going. Sometimes he stopped for a couple of days, usually in a small town, and wonder what would happen if he stopped here. Settled down, got a job, got a family. He was way past retirement age anyways.

But then the nightmares would return, filling the waking hours with _what ifs_ and _could haves_, and he suddenly knew that somewhere along the way, he'd crossed that line again. It was that same line that had landed him frozen in ice. The same line that with a new life in the next century, he'd sworn never to cross.

And that thought, that _line_ that had stolen everything from him, left him terrified. Even with the super serum, Steve Rogers was a mortal man at heart, just as susceptible to crippling fear and doubt that came with the realization that once more, the friends he'd made and the life he'd begun to claim, could be easily taken from him. But, as many times before, he proved that it was not a shield or serum that made him strong. The moment that he realized _what_ he was running from and _why_, Steve Rogers turned his bike around and began driving back to New York.

And then, two days from New York, the newspaper arrived at his door. He hadn't watched the news the previous days, trying to reconcile the chaos of his own thoughts, and it was pure chance that he saw the paper that morning. But one look at the headline and he felt something inside of him wrench.

A picture of the smoking remains of a cliffside home, and at the top in bold print: _Tony Stark Presumed Dead_.

For a long time, he stared at the paper, trying to make sense of what he was reading. Something in his head tried to deny it. Tried to tell him that there was a mistake, that it was some other Tony Stark (_as though the world could handle more than one_). Snippets of memory whirled around his head, of their brief but contemptuous meeting aboard the Helicarrier. Of them fighting side by side against the Chitauri.

Of Iron Man flying a nuke into an alien portal, and the thoughts of soldiers and wires that had flown through his head at that moment.

Of the many things he had been _wrong_ about Tony Stark.

And the one thing that he'd been right about.

Tony Stark was just a man in a suit.

He didn't know how long he sat on the hotel room's sole bed, staring at the headlines. He thought, briefly, about turning on the news. Maybe using the computers downstairs to search up all the information he could find on the incidents. But no, he was still pretty bad at searching up stuff on the internet, or at least _important _stuff. That had been Stark's field after all.

No, instead he found himself reaching for his cell phone. The first impulse was to call Stark, or somebody from his company, but that wouldn't help the situation at all. Instead, he found himself dialing the one number installed in the phone from the instant that SHIELD had issued it to him.

In three rings he was talking to Nick Fury.

In two days he would be in New York again.

And he will hunt down whoever is responsible for this, because Steve Rogers is _done_ losing people. Done watching them fall.

He's done running.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

5. Bruce

After the Chitauri Invasion, Bruce Banner briefly entertained the idea of taking Stark up on his offer. Part of that was his inner scientist, the part that had gotten him into this mess but would never be quenched, that _longed_ for the lab. For his research. For the familiar feeling of glass and metal, and the government funded you instead of tracked you across the world.

And even more than that, he _liked_ Stark, something that was completely against his better judgment. Stark was reckless. In his approach to the lab. In his approach to life. In his approach to _Bruce_. Although, that was probably the very reason why he liked him. It was _nice_ not to be treated like a time bomb, even if it was a stupid decision not to.

Which is why, after their grand send-off of the alien menace, when he got in the car with Stark and the man had asked him where he wanted to go, he'd replied with the airport. If the man was upset at that, he didn't show it, letting it slide off his shoulders and smiling brightly. Almost, Bruce had wished that the man had put up more of an argument than that, even if it was probably wiser not to.

Since that time, he'd tried to forget it all. The aliens, the invasion, the insane demigods…most of all, the longing for Candy Land on the top ten floors of the (now totaled, he reminded himself) Stark Tower. Six months trudged by.

By the time Bruce Banner received the news, the event had come and gone. He guessed he was lucky that it hadn't been longer. That he'd heard about the incident at all.

In hindsight, though, it was probably for the best that he hadn't heard at the time. The main reason for this was big and green and surprisingly protective of the '_metal man'_, and as fast as Hulk travel was, Tony and Malibu were oceans away. This way, he had time to think things through, try to make a good, rational decision.

In the end, he managed to think things through. The good, rational decision? Not so good there.

A matter of hours after he got the news, he was on a plane headed stateside, going so far as contacting SHIELD to find his current location Luckily, Stark's now relocated to New York yet. He's at one of his "smaller" mansions, a seclude ski resort in the Colorado mountains that nobody was supposed to know existed.

He showed up at the doors without ceremony. Disheveled, lacking several weeks of a shower, toting nothing but a small brief case and wondering what on earth he was doing there. Why on earth Tony Stark would want to see him, especially since he hadn't seemed overly bothered when Bruce had left the first time. Why on earth he cared enough to risk capture from any number of agencies to come here.

And most of all, why he hadn't been shot at by security yet.

Instead, the glass doors slid open by themselves, an electronic voice whose name he recalls as Jarvis pipes in, ushering him in. Stark came out to greet him, looking worse for the wear but wearing that blindingly bright smile, a bottle of champagne in one hand.

"Dr. Banner!" He said, "We've been expecting you!"

"You have?" he asked, wondering if SHIELD had alerted the man, or if the man had some way or tracking when SHIELD let out his personal information.

"Yeah. Thought it would take at least another month before you came around, but we've had the guest room prepped ever since New York." The billionaire continued to usher him in from the entryway, jumping topics at a ridiculous speed. Bruce silently acquiesced, only half listening. He was tired, after all. It had been a long flight. A long six months, actually.

And for the first time in years, he felt like he was coming home.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

+1

Agent Coulson was doing paper work. Which normally wouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who claimed to know him at all. But after being stabbed by an alien weapon and left in a coma for months after an emergency (and illegal) procedure, he would have thought that the man deserved a good rest. But then again, he probably found paperwork a good rest, compared to all the rest of the insanity he dealt with as the Avengers handler.

Coulson looked up as the door to his exclusive hospital room slid open, admitting Nick Fury. A single look sent all the nurses scurrying out of the room, and Coulson couldn't help but chuckle inwardly. Fury did not look happy.

"Let me guess, he survived," Coulson said, without so much as looking up from his paperwork, "_And_ caught the Mandarin before you."

"You know this case was taken out of our division."

"Yes, and I'm dead," replied Coulson smoothly, lips quirking as he held Fury's glare. "Pay up. You owe me fifty bucks."

"I still suspect some interference on your part," grumbled Fury, handing over the fifty dollar bill regardless, "Stark got AIM's information too easily from our systems."

"Oh, I don't know. Could be a residual from when he hacked us six months ago." Coulson had gone back to his paperwork. Fury watched him for a couple minutes more, a smile teasing ever so slightly tat it softened his sharp edges ever so slightly.

"What do you intend to do now, Agent Coulson?" he asked at length, "You've lost one of your Avengers."

Coulson snorted softly. "Not at all."


End file.
